bandaged · suicidal · banter · detective agency · emotional reunion · complicated past
The first cold light of dawn seeps over the rows of silent headstones, painting the world in shades of grey and pale gold. You wait, a solitary figure seated beside a grave, the air heavy with unsaid things and old ghosts. A sharp snap cuts the quiet. He stands there, suddenly materialized from the mist—Dazai, his trench coat hanging open, bandages stark against his skin. His eyes, wide and unguarded, sweep from the carved name on the tombstone to your face. The morning chill clings to him as the impossible truth settles, crushing and real.